


It Takes a Village

by ozmissage



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-18 00:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozmissage/pseuds/ozmissage





	It Takes a Village

_I need to go, just for a little awhile, there are some things that I have to do on my own. I hope you understand that this has nothing to do with you and I swear I will come back._   


  
“You still alive in there, Enos?”

Miles rests his forehead against the cool tiles and tries in vain to block out the sound of Jim’s voice. His hot shower turned cold a good five minutes ago, and he knows Jim is going to give him a long lecture full of colorful expletives when he takes his turn and gets a face full of icy water. To be perfectly honest, Miles is looking forward to Jim’s indignant screeching. It might even cheer him up a little.

“No, I hung myself with the shower curtain,” Miles calls back.

“Real funny, if you use all the hot water I’m going to kick---”

The sound of the doorbell ringing cuts Jim’s sad attempt at being menacing short. Despite himself, Miles’s heart begins to beat a little faster. He turns the shower off quickly and reaches for the nearest towel. A little voice in the back of his head whispers Richard wouldn’t ring the bell, but Miles tells the little voice to go fuck itself. He wraps the towel around his waist and pads quickly down the hall leaving a trail of soggy footprints in his wake. He makes it to the front door just in time to see a sight he never thought he would see---a completely speechless Jim.

“Who is it?” Miles asks.

Jim shoots Miles a baffled glance over his shoulder and pushes the door open wider.

“See for yourself.”

“What the---”Miles trails off.

Hovering nervously in the doorway is the very last person Miles expects to see---Claire. The wild rat’s nest she used to call her hair has been replaced by a short, curly bob, but there’s still something wild in her eyes, something hard. Still, she _almost_ looks like the sweet, hot chick he met four years ago only now her baby has been replaced by a sheepish little kid peeking around her legs at Miles and Jim like they might secretly be ninjas.

“Hey,” Claire says forcing her voice to stay light.

Miles suddenly becomes keenly aware that he’s wearing nothing but a towel.

“What’re you doing here, Claire?” Jim asks.

Claire tightens her grip on Aaron’s hand and looks straight past Jim to Miles.

“We need your help.”

Miles likes to think he and Jim have lived together just long enough to have gained the ability to have pseudo-psychic conversations. This skill always came in handy when Richard tried to veto a football game in favor of another endless loop of CNN watching. A half-glance from Jim and suddenly they’d tag team Richard into submission.

Miles hopes it will work just as well when a former nut job shows up on your doorstep with a wide-eyed moppet in tow. Miles arches an eyebrow Jim’s way and Jim nods in understanding.

“Come on in,” Jim says.

Miles’s mouth drops open. Luckily, Claire is too busy trying to usher her kid inside to notice.

“Living room’s that way; you and the kid go on and take a load off while me and Enos rustle up some drinks. All we got is beer and coffee...”

“Coffee’s fine, Aaron has a juice pack in his bag.”

“Good,” Jim says. “We ain’t exactly kid friendly around here.”

Miles waits until Claire disappears into the living room before catching Jim’s arm.

“What the hell are you doing? That wasn’t an invite-the-whack-job-in look, that was a send-her-on-her-merry-way look,” Miles hisses.

“I can’t do that,” Jim says seriously.

“Why the hell not? Weren’t you the one who told me she tried to kill your ex?”

“It doesn’t matter what she did. She’s one of us; we got to take care of our own. I don’t think she’s be darkening our doorstep if she didn’t need something important.”

Miles shakes his head in disgust.

“Whatever, man. I seem to remember you trying to leave her ass on the island not so long ago.”

Jim’s jaw clenches and Miles knows he’s trying not to snap.

“Just go put some damn pants on, Enos, and we’ll find out what the lady wants.”

He’s never been a fan of admitting defeat, but Jim’s a stubborn bastard when he wants to be and Miles isn’t exactly in the mood for a fight today so he hauls himself down the hallway and shrugs on the first pair of jeans he finds bawled up on the floor of his room and tugs a t-shirt over his head before heading out to face what is sure to be unpleasant music.

Jim and Claire are already making nice by the time he makes it to the living room.

“So Freckles is still in Los Angeles?”

Miles flops down on the couch opposite the kid and tries to ignore the way it keeps staring at him creepily.

“Yeah…well, sort of. She travels up and down the coast a lot. You know Kate, she hates to stand still. The probation period drives her crazy. She comes home every few weeks to check in on Aaron though. This was her idea actually.”

“And what idea was that exactly?” Miles asks.

Claire licks her lips and flashes Miles a hopeful smile. Inwardly, Miles groans. There’s no way a smile like that is going to lead to anything good.

“Aaron, sweetie? Can you go get your backpack from the hallway? There are some crayons and a coloring book in there you can play with while I talk to Miles and Jim.”

Aaron nods reluctantly before sliding off his seat. Claire waits until he’s out of earshot before she speaks.

“Since I got back, I’ve noticed that Aaron is…special.”

“Special how exactly?” Miles asks.

“Things happen around him. Lights go out by themselves; a few birds have flown into windows---just little things. But they’re odd, you know? Island kind of odd. He scares the hell out of my mum. We both do,” Claire says bitterly.

“Uh-huh. So your kid’s Damien?”

“Don’t be stupid. He’s a little boy. He doesn’t mean for anything to happen, he’s just…”

“Special, yeah I got it. But what do you want from me?”

“I thought maybe you could talk to him, help him feel normal, you know?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“I think she means you might know what the kid’s going through seeing how you see dead people and all, Enos,” Jim interjects.

Miles gapes, he’s in a room full of insane people.

“My thing isn’t like his thing. I hear dead people; it sounds like the kid in there is operating on a whole other plain of weirdness. I’m not Yoda.”

“You sure about that?” Jim snickers.

“Look, I’m sorry your kid is having a rough time, but there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it.”

“So you’re not even going to try?” Claire asks angrily. “I thought you of all people would understand.”

“Of course he’ll help,” Jim says.

Miles throws his hands up.

“No, I’m not. If you want to piss off little Anthony in there and end up in a cornfield, be my guest. I’m done with this shit, Jim. I thought we both were.”

Miles gets to his feet, nearly knocking Aaron over as he heads for the door. He can hear Jim stage whispering to Claire behind him.

“He’ll come around. He’s just going through a rough time right now and he thinks that gives him a pass to act like a jackass.”

Miles slams the door behind him and starts walking. Seven months back and everything’s already falling apart. He knows exactly what Jim’s doing. Claire and Aaron are a project for him, something to keep his mind of the island and his kid and Juliet, something he can take care of. For Miles, they’re just another headache and he’s got more than enough of those right now as it is.

He keeps walking until he finds a bar. With any luck, Jim will have come to his senses by the time Miles gets to the bottom of a bottle of Jack.

  


  
_Tenerife is not how I remembered it, it’s still a beautiful place, but I don’t think I’ll be staying long._   


  
Jim moves Claire and Aaron into Richard’s room. His excuse is it wasn’t like Mr. Guyliner spent much time in there when he lived here anyway, the room might as well get some use. Miles doesn’t fight him; at least Jim is smiling occasionally now. It’s better than both of them being miserable all of the time, rattling around their house like two manic-depressive bachelors talking about the good old days when they lived in the seventies, but Miles can’t help but feel like his home has been invaded.

Two weeks after they move in Miles is tripping over Tonka trucks on his way to the bathroom every morning. He thinks he should say screw it and take his crap and move out. To hell with Jim, let him play house with Claire and her demon spawn if that’s what he wants to do. He knows deep down he doesn’t mean that. Miles has never been a big believer in family, but Jim’s the closest thing to a brother he’s ever going to get and that’s not something he’s willing to walk away from. Not anymore.

Miles kicks the latest offending truck across the room and is immediately rewarded with a whimpering four-year old. He could almost swear the kid was lying in wait.

“You broke it!” Aaron screeches.

Jim’s out and Claire’s still asleep and Miles is left standing there staring down at this little kid with his trembling lip and footie pajamas and _fuck_. He’s an asshole, but not a heartless one.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Miles says. “Go get it, I bet I can fix it.”

“No you can’t, _you_ can’t do anything.”

This is exactly why he hates children.

“Just go get the damn thing.”

Aaron scampers off and comes back with his truck clutched in one tiny fist and a wheel in the other. Miles takes the mangled truck and holds the parts up to the light for a moment before smirking to himself.

“I used to have a truck kind of like this one when I was a kid and the wheels never stayed on. So one day, I got pi—ticked off and super glued all of them to their axles. They didn’t pop off anymore after that.”

“Do you have any superglue?”

“A house is not a home without superglue.”

“What?” Aaron asks, scrunching up his face in confusion.

“Come on,” Miles sighs.

By the time Claire gets up the truck is fixed and Aaron and Miles are both absorbed in a _Sponge Bob_ marathon.

“Morning,” she says cautiously.

Miles gives her a half-hearted wave from the couch.

“I fed your kid. There are still some pancakes on the stove. They’re cold and inedible now, but you know what they say about beggars.”

Claire rolls her eyes.

“I think there was something nice in there, but I’m not entirely sure where,” she says.

“Did you hear the part about the pancakes?”

Miles checks to make sure Aaron is still enthralled in Plankton’s world-conquering ambitions (it figures---he’s probably taking notes) before getting up to follow Claire into the kitchen.

He leans against the counter and watches silently as she tosses some pancakes on a plate and sticks them in the microwave.

“Does this mean you’re not pissed that we’re here anymore?” she asks over her shoulder.

Miles shrugs.

“It’s nothing personal. Me and Jim had a good thing going here. With you and the rugrat around I have to wear pants and buy groceries. It’s kind of a chore.”

The microwave dings and Claire removes her plate and proceeds to douse every inch of it in syrup. If she wasn’t so adorable it would be downright disgusting.

“I’m sorry we’re so much trouble,” she says dryly.

“Well, as long as you’re sorry…”

“Aaron looks happy,” she says changing gears entirely. Miles suddenly goes on red alert---this sounds suspiciously like a trap.

“I guess.”

“You’re good with him. Sometimes I think everyone is, except for me.”

Yep, definitely a trap.

“What are you talking about?”

Claire sets her fork down and Miles takes his first really good look at her since she showed up on his doorstep. He didn’t see it before, but she looks exhausted. Maybe even more so now than when she was playing Lady Tarzan in the jungle; it’s weird, Miles thought of all of them she’d be the one who was happiest to be home.

“We’ve been back for almost a year now and he still calls Kate mommy. He asks me everyday when she’s coming back. _Everyday_. And it’s no wonder---I’m the crazy person who jumps at every noise and never sleeps. I forget whether he likes fish sticks or chicken fingers and sometimes I yell for no reason. He hates being with me, Miles, and I don’t know how to be alone with him.”

“So is that why you’re really here? You didn’t want to be alone with your kid?”

“Partly. What I said before was true; I really believe you can help him. It’s hard enough taking care of myself these days. Did you know I still keep a gun in my closet, just in case? What kind of Mum does that? And Aaron…he’s going through so much and I don’t know how to help him when I can’t even help myself. I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” she finishes quietly.

He is so screwed.

Miles doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t have the corner market on being fucked up, the island did a number on all of them, but she looks so damn sad. He’s getting too soft in his old age.

“I’m not pissed that you’re here.”

Claire bites her lip as she nods.

“I’m glad,” she says.

“Yeah, yeah just eat your pancakes before they get cold again.”

“Do I have to? They really are disgusting.”

“Cereal’s on the top shelf.”

  


  
_There’s a market stall in Istanbul that sells nothing but Magic 8 Balls, I’m not sure why, but that reminded me of you._   


  
Miles lies awake in his bed and tries not to stare at the clock. It feels like the bright red numbers are mocking him at this point. It’s past two in the morning and Miles is ready to throw up a white flag and head out into the living room for some quality infomercial watching. Sadly, Claire and Jim are already in there strolling down plane crash survivors’ memory lane. He can hear their voices drifting in, every now and then he catches a name he recognizes---Jin, Kate, Jack---but most of the chatter seems to be about things that happened before his time. Jim barely mentions their stint in Dharmaville, it’s probably a sore subject for the both of them anyway.

They’re getting closer. Miles has already started a mental countdown to see how long it takes before Claire ends up in Jim’s bed. His money is on a month tops, but there’s no one there to bet with anymore. The thought makes Miles groan into his pillow. That’s exactly what he was trying not to think about.

A cautious knock on his door is a welcome distraction. Miles crawls out of bed and opens the door. Aaron blinks up at him sleepily and holds out his arms to be picked up. Miles stands there frozen.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I had a bad dream,” Aaron says, his tiny arms still reaching out for Miles pitifully.

The kid’s been like his shadow ever since the truck and pancakes incident. It reminds him of his mother’s old warning to never feed stray dogs unless you want them to follow you home.

“Go tell your mom.”

“I don’t wanna,” Aaron says to the carpet and Miles sighs before taking his hand.

“You know, I don’t think she bites.”

He leads Aaron out to the living room to interrupt Claire and Jim’s gabfest.

“Does anyone ever actually sleep in this house?” Miles asks.

Claire gets up as soon as she spots Aaron and crosses over so she can kneel down in front of him. She pushes a strand of hair out of his eyes and flashes him a hesitant smile.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? More bad dreams?”

Aaron gives her a small nod and tightens his grip on Miles’s hand. In his four year old mind, this probably constitutes a betrayal, but Miles can’t have the kid imprinting on him like a baby duck. He’s not cut out to be anybody’s role model. He gives the kid a gentle shove forward into his mom’s arms.

“Yeah,” Aaron says.

“Come on, I’ll sing you your special song.”

“You don’t sing it like Mommy does,” Aaron says and Claire winces, but to her credit she barely shows it.

“I’ll do my best, okay? And Jim and Miles can be my backup.”

Jim looks as appalled as Miles feels.

“I don’t know about that, Mamacita…the kid has enough nightmares as it is.”

Claire shoots Jim a meaningful glance and to Miles’s surprise he looks a little bit embarrassed.

“Fine,” Jim says. “But I ain’t singing “Old McDonald”, you got that?”

Miles rolls his eyes. No way is he joining in a Kumbaya sing along. He doesn’t have enough street cred left to squander it on something that ridiculous.

“Yeah, I’m still not singing. My work here is done, if anyone needs me I’ll be in my room probably not sleeping.”

Miles returns to his empty bed and curls up under the covers as Claire sings the first strains of “Catch a Falling Star” to her little boy. By the last refrain he’s fast asleep.

  


  
_I wish you were here._   


  
“You okay, Enos?”

Miles shoves the postcard with its picture of disturbingly cheerful palm trees into his back pocket and snatches his keys off the counter.

“I’m awesome, let’s go.”

Jim gives Miles his patented you’re-full-of-it look, but he doesn’t push. They’re already late as it is, they don’t have time for Miles to angst right now. Jim promised Claire they’d pick up Aaron from his play date. She was over the moon the kid had one at all. Apparently, he wasn’t the most popular kid on the playground back home, but he’s a regular Casanova here, at least little Lucy from the next block over thinks so.

Claire is too busy job hunting to do it herself. Miles would be lying if he said this didn’t make him nervous. He’s gotten used to them being around, sure, but a job would make everything so permanent. Jim seems down right excited by the prospect, but it’s no wonder. He’s taken to having Claire and Aaron at the house with an almost manic zeal. He cooks and does laundry. Hell, last week Miles walked in on him teaching the kid how to tie his shoes. It’s all very disturbing.

They pull up in front of a small white house with a blue trim to find Aaron on the front stoop with his chin propped on his fists. He doesn’t move when they drive up, just sits there staring glumly ahead. Miles gets a sinking feeling in his stomach---he knows that look, he _invented_ that look.

“That’s not good,” he mutters.

“You think he got in trouble?” Jim asks.

Miles shakes his head.

“I think trouble found him. You go talk to the mom, okay? I’ll get him.”

Jim nods and they get out of the car. Jim tousles Aaron’s hair as he passes him, but the poor kid doesn’t bother looking up. Miles sits down beside him and rubs his hands together. He’s way out of his element here.

“What happened?” Miles asks.

Aaron shrugs and buries his face further behind his hands. Miles reaches out to pat his back, but he pauses midway there and starts talking instead.

“I had this sleepover at my buddy Paul’s house when I was eight. Paul’s dad was a deadbeat and I didn’t know who mine was so we kind of spoke the same language. Anyway, we were having a great time. His mom ordered us pizzas and we stayed up all night watching crappy movies---then he dared me to go into the basement. He said it was haunted---”

“Was it?” Aaron asks curiously.

Miles feels his lips twist upward in a bitter smile.

“Sort of. It turned out some guy had died down there a long time ago and the minute I set foot on the first step, I could hear him in my head…I started screaming and crying. When I told Paul’s mom what I’d heard she thought I was insane, so she called my mom and after that I wasn’t allowed to see Paul anymore.”

Aaron sniffles.

“My mom said you were special too.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“I don’t want to see Lucy again. She’s stupid.”

“What happened, Aaron?” Miles asks carefully.

“We were playing in the living room and Lucy took my legos and I got really mad, then her mommy’s birdie flew into the side of its cage. She got scared and called for her mommy and I got scared and the other birdie did the same thing and they wouldn’t stop doing it until…until,” Aaron trails off. “I didn’t mean to do it, Miles. I promise, I didn’t mean to…”

Miles scoops Aaron up without pausing to think about it and pulls the kid onto his lap. It feels awkward at first, but then Aaron buries his teary face in Miles’s shirt and Miles instinctively pulls him closer. It’s not fair for anyone to have to go through this shit, let alone a little kid.

“Shh…it’s okay, buddy. It wasn’t your fault. Trust me, I know. It’s just…people like me and you, we’re different. And it sucks sometimes, but it can be good too. You’ll see that one day.”

Aaron looks up into Miles’s eyes and Miles knows that’s the worst fucking lie he’s ever told for the right reason.

“Like superheroes?” Aaron asks.

“Something like that,” Miles replies.

Jim strolls back out onto the porch, taking care to slam the door as hard as possible behind. Miles hasn’t seen him this pissed in a long time. He’s missed angry Jim.

Miles stands up and adjusts Aaron until he’s on his hip.

“How’d it go in there, Boss?”

“I told Ms. Betty Homemaker where she could stick her damn parakeets. How’d it go out here?”

“There’s a weeping four year old in my arms, how do you think it went?”

Jim pokes gently at Aaron’s side making him squirm.

“Let’s go get some ice cream, Quick Draw. Will that make you feel better?”

“Maybe,” Aaron mutters into Miles’s snot-stained t-shirt.

Miles hugs him a little tighter. Ice cream’s not going to do much in the long run, but it sounds like a damn good idea right now. They pull into the first Baskin Robins they see and order Aaron the biggest sundae on the menu. By the time the first hot fudge coated mouthful hits his tongue, the only evidence he was ever sad are the dried tear stains on his cheeks.

“I thought you weren’t Yoda,” Jim whispers as Aaron skips back to the car.

Miles shrugs. He’s not sure of much of anything anymore.

“Wrong, I was,” he says.

  


  
_“Hello? Hello? I hate answering machines. I wanted to check in…I stopped in Ontario for the weekend, the snow is miserable here; I had to buy a coat. Miles? Never mind, I’ll call back later.”_   


  
“What’s wrong with Miles?” Aaron asks.

Miles can hear Claire shushing him all the way from the living room.

“He’s just sad he missed a call from his friend. Eat your peas.”

“I hate peas.”

“Everybody does, but we have to eat them anyway.”

Miles contemplates screaming, but that seems like a disproportionate response to the situation. He sinks lower into the couch instead and forces himself to focus on the television and not the phone that only ever rings when he’s not at home to answer it. The bastard clearly has a personal vendetta against him.

“Here,” Jim says as he passes Miles a beer. “Drink up.”

“Thanks, man,” Miles says. He clinks his bottle with Jim’s before taking a sip.

“So…you wanna talk?” Jim asks.

“Nope,” Miles says. “Do you?”

“I got nothing to talk about, Enos.”

“How about the hot chick you could be doing right now?”

Jim chuckles.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Claire.”

“There will be. I should probably go ahead and start apartment hunting before you two kick me out on my ass.”

“That’s never going to happen, Enos,” Jim says.

“You say that now. But let’s face it, you and Claire and Aaron---that’s a family. You and Claire and Aaron and me---that’s not exactly Norman Rockwell, material.”

“Fuck, Rockwell,” Jim says simply.

Miles hides a smile behind his bottle.

  


  
_De corde totaliter, et ex mente tota, sum presentialiter, absens in remota._   


  
Miles tosses the postcard into the shoebox with all of the others and shoves it under his bed. It doesn’t mean anything to him and he’s got other things to do besides puzzle out Richard’s increasingly cryptic messages.

Aaron and Claire are waiting for him on the porch. He takes one of Aaron’s hands and Claire takes the other one. They stop every few steps to swing him between them as they walk down the sidewalk and Aaron giggles every single time.

“You doing okay today?” Miles asks.

One year. It’s been one whole year since they all got off that island and four months since Claire and Aaron rang his doorbell. He’s not sure if anyone could call what they’re doing progress. They’re still living on top of each other like refugees, but there’s less crying and more sleeping these days. Miles has to admit he’s almost happy and that’s a long way from miserable, so all in all it hasn’t been the worst year ever.

Claire shakes her head noncommittally.

“I don’t know. It’s weird, right? My mum called this morning, so did Kate. It’s surreal. There’s this part of me that feels like I’m going to wake up back in that jungle any minute now and find out this whole year was just a nice dream.”

“Aaron pinch your mommy,” Miles whispers.

Aaron does and Claire yelps in mock pain before picking him up and blowing a raspberry on his stomach.

“Mommy, stop!” he chokes out in between squeals of delight and Claire nearly drops him.

“You called me mommy,” Claire says.

Aaron shoots Miles a look that clearly says his mother is hopeless.

“Because you _are_ , silly.”

Claire wraps Aaron in a bone crushing hug.

“I’m doing great today,” she says to Miles, her eyes shining with tears. Miles grins at her and prays his eyes don’t look as watery as they feel.

  


  
_I missed you._   


  
The note is resting on the pillow inches from his face when he wakes up. Miles squints at it blearily for a moment before sitting bolt right up in bed.

“What the hell?”

“Hello, Miles,” Richard says calmly from Miles’s desk chair.

Miles has four months worth of creative ways to say _fuck you_ stored away for this moment but the sight of a tanned, anxious Richard lounging around his bedroom makes them all fade away. He finds that for once in his life he has nothing to say.

Richard gets up cautiously and sits down next to Miles.

“I see Claire and her son live here now. I didn’t think you liked children.”

“I don’t.”

Richard smiles sadly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Miles replies.

“I had to go. I had this feeling in the pit of stomach that wouldn’t let me stand still anymore. I went back to Tenerife and then I travelled around. I saw all of the places Jacob and Ben had me pass through over the years. I visited the Eiffel Tower. It was beautiful once I got past the pigeons.”

“I know all of this already, I got the Cliff Notes version, remember?”

“I remember. In every place that I saw, my only thought was that I wished you were there seeing it too.”

“I was a little busy back here with a kid who your dear friend Jacob, probably slapped with super powers just for the hell of it and Claire, who was trying to learn how to not be crazy and Jim. I didn’t have the luxury of running.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You already said that.”

Richard stares at his hands and Miles fights back the urge to comfort him. He’s going to be pissed for as long as he wants to.

“Do you want me to go?”

“Did you get it out of your system?”

Richard nods.

“Then I don’t want you to go.”

Richard reaches out and tentatively takes Miles’s hand.

“What the hell did that last postcard say?” Miles asks.

Richard smirks mischievously and leans in until his lips meet Miles’s and his hand is sliding through Miles’s hair, pulling him impossibly close. He always has been very good at avoiding answering a question.

They stay like that for all of five seconds before Aaron comes bounding into the room and Miles and Richard go flying apart like shrapnel. Miles laughs.

“I’m going to have to start locking that door,” Miles mutters.

Aaron screeches to a halt when he sees Richard.

“Is this your friend, Miles?” he asks suspiciously.

“Yeah, buddy. This is him.”

Aaron tilts his head to the side and examines Richard carefully.

“You have pretty eyelashes.”

“Thank you,” Richard says, a bemused smile firmly in place.

“Are you staying here now?”

Richard looks to Miles. He wants to say no, just to watch Richard squirm, but he’s got this weird feeling in his chest, like everything’s exactly where it’s supposed to be for once. Miles nods his answer and Richard looks incredibly relieved.

“Yes, I am.”

Miles gets up, catches Aaron around the waist, and swings him onto his shoulders.

“You guys want pancakes?”

“Yes!” Aaron squeals.

“That sounds wonderful,” Richard says.

Miles smiles to himself as they all file into the kitchen to find Claire and Jim already sitting at the table.

“Morning Enos, Guyliner,” Jim says. “Glad to see you came crawling back finally.”

“I missed you too, James,” Richard says. “And it’s nice to see you again, Claire. You’re looking well.”

“You too,” she says happily.

It’s hard to imagine they were all on that island fighting and bickering and running from a smoke monster a year ago when Miles sees them all sitting around a kitchen table exchanging niceties before pancakes.

He sets Aaron down and whispers in his ear.

“Go ask Richard how old he is.”

Miles winks and Aaron tries his best to wink back before scampering off to interrogate Richard.  
Miles shakes his head as he reaches for the frying pan. They make one weird fucking family. Rockwell is probably rolling in his grave somewhere. But who gives a fuck about Rockwell, anyway?

Later that night before he crawls into bed beside Richard, Miles finds one last postcard on his night stand.

  


  
_See how I am faithful: with all my heart and all my soul, I am with you though I am far away._   


  



End file.
